


Hearts are Heavy Burdens (to Bear Alone)

by Leviarty



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Meet the Family, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Nat Plays Matchmaker, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, obligatory road trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviarty/pseuds/Leviarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d never been particularly good at putting himself out there. He’d gotten lucky with Peggy, that she’d found his awkward clumsiness to be endearing and not just uncomfortable. It seemed unlikely that he’d find someone like that again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Cute

It didn’t begin at the National Mall.

Actually, wait, it _did_ begin there, but not with ‘On your left’.

It began weeks before, at a ceremony honoring veterans. There were thousands in attendance, and dozens of people giving talks. Part of him had been reticent to go – he’d talked to vets before, and he knew them to be heroes, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was, they all looked up to Captain America, they all considered him to be the ultimate hero, cited him as their inspiration. He wasn’t sure he was worthy of their admiration and attention.

But Nat had talked him into it, as she had talked him into many things. And he didn’t regret going. The ceremony was beautiful. Deep down, he knew he never would have missed it, that Nat didn’t have any convincing to do, because this was a place he always needed to be.

After the official speeches ended, the crowd broke off, and little groups began to form around tables – some people offering jobs to veterans, others asking about reenlistment. Some groups formed around kids yet to join, still weighing their options.

A larger group had formed around a black man. They were mostly younger veterans, many with scars and injuries and missing limbs. Steve knew that not all wounds were so obvious, not all of them bled. And the man talked about PTSD, about trauma, about all the things they carried with them. He was smart, charismatic, didn’t have to try to get people (Steve included) to listen to him.

“I’ve never seen that one before,” Nat said, suddenly appearing at his side.

“What?”

“That expression,” she indicated to his face. “I’ve never seen it before. Not on you, anyway.” She smirked, as though she had just discovered something very important that no one else knew.

“What are you talking about?”

“You think he’s cute.”

“Natasha, that is not-”

“Oh, no, I’m sure he’s a lot more than just a pretty face. But it is a pretty face, and you’ve just been caught admiring it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just listening to a guy talk.”

Natasha was still wearing that horrible smirk. “You’ve got lots in common, I’m sure. You should talk to him.” She nudged him with her shoulder. But instead he turned and walked the other way. She sighed and jogged after him. “Come on, Steve. You’ve got to put yourself out there. And you can’t give me the excuse that you’re avoiding dating someone in the workplace, because you refuse to date _anyone_.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Actually, it is. All you have to do is ask if he wants to go out for drinks, or lunch. Or sex. Whatever.”

“That’s not the problem and you know it,” he said. Well, okay, that was one of the problems. He’d never been particularly good at putting himself out there. He’d gotten lucky with Peggy, that she’d found his awkward clumsiness to be endearing and not just uncomfortable. It seemed unlikely that he’d find someone like that again.

“Is it that he’s a guy? I didn’t think that was an issue for you.”

“Not for me.” But it was for a lot of people. The world liked to think that it had grown so much in seventy years, and maybe it had, but there were still a lot of bigots out there, still a lot of people that would not be okay with Captain America being a big queer.

 

 

So, no, he didn’t ask that guy out, and he didn’t ask out any of the dozen or so guys and girls from the office (Nat had actually given him a list of people she thought would be a good match).

“I don’t get it,” she said. “Is it fear of rejection?”

No, that wasn’t it. He was fairly certain, and so was she, that few people would say no to a date with Captain America.

And, well, _that_ was the problem.

“No. You’re not afraid they’ll say no. You’re afraid of what’ll happen when they say _yes_.”

The thing was, Captain America was a household name. Everyone knew his story, and since he came back from the dead, he only grew in popularity. The whole damn country hero-worshipped him. And he didn’t want any of it. He certainly didn’t want to date someone who worshipped him like that.

Most of the time, he had no idea what he wanted, but he never wanted that.

 

 

Natasha had a lot of resources, both inside SHIELD and out. With her history, she swore never use those resources for evil, but she did, on occasion, have somewhat nefarious goals in mind.

She wouldn’t call what she was doing _spying_. Stalking, perhaps, and there was definitely some mischief involved.

“You seem a little out of place,” someone said, sliding onto the barstool beside her.

She looked over at the familiar face as he waved the bartender over. Oh man, this was going to be easier than she had thought.

“I’ve had a rough week,” she said with a little shrug. “This seemed like the best place to get a drink without unwanted attention.”

“Want me to leave?” he asked, rising slightly from his seat.

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head. “Not yet, anyway.”

He smiled and ordered them both a drink. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Natalie. My friends call me Nat.”

“Oh, are we friends now?”

“Might be, for the moment anyway.”

“Hey, brah,” a very drunk guy slurred, leaning in between them, all of his attention on Sam. “Wanna dance?”

“I’ll pass,” he said, then glared at Nat, who was cackling to herself.

“Aww, you broke that poor guy’s heart,” she said when he was going.

“Something tells me he’ll move on,” Sam said.

“Not your type?” she asked.

“I don’t think anyone here is my type.”

“So… why are you here?”

He was thoughtful for a moment. He took a swig of beer before answering. “You could say I’m having a rough week too. Buddy of mine died three years ago today.”

“Ouch. What’s his name?”

“Riley.”

“To Riley,” she said, holding her bottle out to him.

“To Riley,” he echoed. They both took another swig.

“Okay, hold on, you’re honoring this guy by, what, getting laid by some stranger?”

“Nah,” he said. “But this is something we used to do. Hit up local bars wherever we were stationed – gay bars, straight bars, whatever.”

“You’re military?” she asked, pretending not to know.

“Was. I resigned after the accident that killed him. I work at the VA now.”

“That’s good work,” she said.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you do?”

“Lots of things. Most of it is classified.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, a disbelieving smile forming on his face. She recognized it well. Most people didn’t expect a nice, pretty girl like her to do the things she did. They’d write her off as a silly thing, trying to get attention. Most of the time, that was the way she preferred things. Most of the time, her job, and her life, depended on it.

She shrugged. “Remember what happened in New York?”

“Aliens, Avengers, wormhole into outer space? No, sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. Don’t tell me you were involved.”

“Just a minor role,” she said. “I didn’t save the world or anything.”

“I’m sure you could.”

 

Over the course of the next half hour, they talked, mostly ignoring their surroundings, while at least four guys came over to hit on Sam, only to be shot down.

“Dude, if you’re just here for the chicks, get out,” one guy said, before storming off.

“Not that I’m trying to get rid of you or anything, but a lot of these guys are really hot, and totally into you.”

“Guess I’m just waiting for the right guy.”

“You believe in Mr. Right?”

“You don’t?”

“I believe in Mr. Right Now, and trust me, all of those were very eligible. Well, except the really drunk one.”

“I think I’m okay right here, for now.”

“Okay, but just to be clear, you are actually gay, right, not just pretending to be to pick up girls that hang around gay bars?”

“Scouts honor,” he said, raising his hand.

“So then tell me about this Mr. Right you’re looking for.”

“Who said I was looking for him.”

“Because everyone is looking for someone. The only people who aren’t, are either lying, or have already found it. So which are you?”

“It’s not like I have a list of criteria.”

“No? Tall, short? Skinny, chubby, muscular?”

He shrugged. “A person is more than the sum of his parts.”

“Oh, man, you are so corny.” Steve sure knew how to pick ‘em, didn’t he?

“I am not,” he said indignantly.

“You are. But in this case, I don’t think it’s a bad thing. I know a guy. He might be your type, and you’re _definitely_ his-”

“Oh no no,” he said, shaking his head. “You are _not_ setting me up on a blind date. I will not be set up by a woman I hardly know.”

She gaped at him. “Fine,” she said. “No blind dates. I solemnly swear.” She crossed her finger over her heart. “How about a meet cute?”

 

 

The next morning, Nat sent Steve a message. **Wanna go for a run Friday morning?** She’d already worked out (it was information gathering, not spying) Sam’s running schedule, already figured out his typical paths. She only set it a few days out so that maybe he’d forget all about her and her promise to introduce him to someone – she hadn’t told him anything about Steve, not his name, not what he looked like, said nothing more than “I’ll introduce you guys sometime”. It sounded plenty like an empty promise of a passing acquaintance. Which made everything perfect.

Steve replied almost immediately. **Sure. When and where?**

Nat smiled at her phone. **0630, National Mall?**

She knew he ran every morning, and that it wasn’t part of his usual route, but still close enough to his apartment. She waited for his confirmation before getting in the elevator as the Triskelion.

 

 

At 0629, Friday morning, Nat texted him saying something had come up with SHIELD and that she’d catch up with him later. He frowned, but, well, he was already here. **Go on without me** , her next message read.

He stood up from the bench he had been waiting at and pocketed his phone. He hadn’t taken a single step before noticing the guy jogging across the street.

Natasha, that _rascal._

He debated turning around, running back towards his usual route, but instead allowed his legs to guide him across the street.

“On your left.”

 

 

Sam Wilson jogged nearly every day, partially out of habit, partially to stay in shape. Back in his air force days, he’d made a point to finish his runs under a certain time, but now it didn’t matter so much. Now running was just a relaxing start to the day.

“On your left.”

And then there was this guy, this complete _ass_ , who just had to one-up him – wait, make that two-up.

And it didn’t help that he _had_ a great ass.

Sam jogged a little faster.

“Don’t say it,” he gritted out when he hear the footsteps coming up behind him for the third time. “Don’t you say it.”

“On your left.”

“Come on!” Sam shouted.

This time he’d caught a glimpse of the guy, and became immediately aware of two things: one, it was Captain Fucking America, and two, he was toying with him. Captain America had adopted him as a temporary running partner-slash-play toy.

What the hell?

Sam sped up a little, tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to keep up. But he hadn’t been a fast runner even in his peak, and, oh yeah, he wasn’t powered by super soldier serum.

He half wished he had his wings, just to teach this guy a lesson. Sam could out fly him any day, wipe that smirk right off his face.

 

 

“Need a medic?”

“Need a new set of lungs. Dude, you just ran like 13 miles in 30 minutes.”

“Guess I got a late start.”

Sam laughed. “Really? You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap.” He blinked. “Did you take it? I assume you just took it.”

He smiled. “What unit you with?”

“58th Pararescue. But now I’m working down at the VA.” He held his hand up, motioning for help up. “Sam Wilson.”

“Steve Rogers,” he replied, pulling him to his feet.

“I kinda put that together.” God damn. Sam had been to the museum, knew the history, had heard stories about Captain America most of his life. “Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing.” He could see the drop in Steve’s expression. Good job, Sam. Open mouth, insert foot.

Steve let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a huff. “It takes some getting used to.” He started to turn. “It’s good to meet you, Sam.”

And Sam had to do something, had to stop him. “It’s your bed, right?”

“What’s that?”

“Your bed, it’s too soft. When I was over there, I’d sleep on the ground, use rocks for pillows, like a caveman. Now I’m home, lying in my bed, and its like-”

“Lying in a marshmallow,” Steve finished, nodding a little. “Feels like I’m gonna sink right to the floor.”

Sam had been home for three years and still couldn’t quite get used to the feeling.

“How long?” Steve asked.

“Two tours. You must miss the good old days, huh?”

Steve shrugged. “Well, things aren’t so bad. Food’s a lot better. We used to boil everything. No polio is good. Internet, _so helpful_. I’ve been reading that a lot, trying to catch up.”

Sam grinned. “Marvin Gaye, 1972, Troubleman soundtrack.” To be honest, he wasn’t sure why that was the thing that came to mind, but the moment the words were passing his lips, he knew they were right. “Everything you missed jammed into one album.”

“I’ll put it on the list.” Steve pulled a tiny notebook out of his pocket and jotted it down on a list of miscellaneous words that Sam only caught a glimpse of. A faint pinging came from his other pocket. “Alright, Sam, duty calls,” he said upon checking his phone. “Thanks for the run. If that’s what you want to call running.”

Sam gaped at him. “Oh is that how it is?” All the history of about Captain America had never mentioned that he was a sassy fucker. It hadn’t done an ounce of justice to this man. He was an asshole, but damn if that didn’t make him more intriguing.

“That’s how it is,” Steve said with a smile Sam swore could melt the sun.

“Anytime you want to stop by the VA, make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know.” There was no girl at the front desk, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to running into Steve again.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

A car revved in the background, pulling up to the curb. Sam caught a familiar hint of red hair as the window rolled down. “Hey, fellas. Either one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.”

“That’s hilarious,” Steve deadpanned as he approached.

Sam kneeled down to get a better look, and sure enough, it was her. Nat from the bar. Smiling at him all innocent like.

“How you doin’?” he asked.

“Hey,” she said back. And, no, he was all wrong. That wasn’t an innocent smile. That was smug.

She had set him up with Captain Fucking America.

 

 

“I hate you,” Steve said.

“Oh, come on, am I the best wingman, or am I the best wingman?”

“You’re horrible and manipulative and how did you even manage this – you know what, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“But you guys totally hit it off, am I right?”

 

 

He didn’t really mean to tell Peggy, because honestly there wasn’t much to tell, and most of the time he wanted to hear about her life, about the things he missed, but something she said made it happen, made the words tumble out of his mouth without permission. “I might have met a guy.”

And Peggy, bless her, was so happy for him. Which was dumb, because it wasn’t like he was dating someone or anything so momentous. He wasn’t even sure Sam would be into him (never mind what Nat seemed to think).

“Don’t let the chance pass you by,” she told him. “Take it from me.”

And it wasn’t like he could just ignore her advice. Not hers. Not after everything that had happened. She was right, after all. He’d already lost out on too many chances, missed too many things in his deep freeze. Nat had been pestering him for months about going on some dates, and all week had been heckling him about Sam (and about the numerous alternatives). In the end, it was Peggy who convinced him to go after something (it was always Peggy, in the end).

 

 

It was rough, listening to people talk about their experiences. Most days, he could hardly handle his own baggage, he didn’t know how Sam managed to listen to all these people talk about their troubles without letting it tear him up inside. But he listened well, and said all the right things to offer comfort and understanding.

Steve was a little bit in awe of him.

“You could do _whatever_ you want to do. What makes you happy?”

Steve wished he knew. “I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders and let out a sigh. “You want to get something to eat?” It was late for lunch, still to early for dinner, but the question came easier than he expected it to, but maybe it’s because it’s open ended, no commitment attached. It wasn’t a date, it was two guys hanging out over a meal.

“You like Thai food?” Sam asked with a smile.


	2. Freefall

The rain came by surprise, pouring down in sheets, drenching them both before either knew what hit them.

“My place is just around the corner,” Sam shouted over sound of water hitting the pavement. “You know, for shelter.”

They jogged down the street, keeping perfect cadence. Steve didn’t even consider running ahead to fool with him, in part because he wasn’t sure where they were going, but also because over the course of an hour, he realized that he might really like Sam.

“I might have something that’ll fit you,” Sam said, stripping off his soaked shirt. Steve had to force himself to divert his gaze, to not stare as Sam walked into the bedroom, leaving him dripping in the entryway.

A minute or so later, Sam emerged in a t-shirt and jeans, looking better than he had any right to.

Okay, Steve had it bad. He was man enough to admit it, even if only to himself (not to Natasha, never her).

Sam passed him a change of clothes, which Steve was careful to not drip all over. “There a bathroom in the guest room, down the hall,” he said, nodding in the general direction. “Towels are in the closet.”

Steve walked down the hall, his shoes squeaking a little, and changed quickly.

The sweat pants fit well enough – only a little shorter than he’d like – but the grey shirt was tight across his shoulders. Most were, on him.

“Oh man,” Sam said, cackling a little. “That’s the biggest shirt I own. Sorry.”

 

 

All in all, it was a pretty good day. Sam sat them down to a movie – one of his favorites, one Steve had never seen. It was a while before the rain finally let up, the movie had been long over, but Steve wasn’t complaining, and neither was Sam.

“It’s getting late,” Sam said, and at first it sounded like he was kicking Steve out. “You could crash here, if you want. In the guest room, I mean.”

Steve smiled, and wondered if Sam’s thoughts were in the same place as his own. “Nah, I have an early morning tomorrow. Thanks though.”

He grabbed his things from the dryer and changed back into them, leaving the borrowed clothes neatly folded in the bathroom.

It was pretty late by the time he got home, so he was surprised to find Kate awake and doing her laundry. He offered her a hand of friendship. It wasn’t what Natasha had been encouraging since he’d moved in – her suggestions usually involved more meaningless sex than friendship, something Steve wasn’t sure he would enjoy. But the nurse seemed nice enough, in the few conversations they’d had, and he was in a good mood.

Naturally, that was right around the time shit hit the fan.

 

 

He was exhausted by the time morning rolled around, but morning didn’t bring him the opportunity to rest, only brought him running and more fighting.

When he got into the car with Natasha, the voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Fury was telling him not to trust her, not to trust anyone. He wasn’t sure he really did trust her, but he didn’t have much choice, did he?

They drove for hours to get answers, then drove a few hours more to get back home.

“They’re looking for us everywhere,” Nat said, her head pressed against the cool window. “We shouldn’t go back. We have nowhere to go.”

“I might know a place,” Steve said.

“None of our known associates,” she said. “Not your neighbor, not my doorman, not the girl you talk to at the library every week. SHIELD knows everyone.”

“Does SHIELD know about the guy I met at the Mall a few days ago?” She was the only person who could’ve told them.

Natasha let out a surprised laugh. “No, they don’t.”

 

 

It wasn’t like Sam was expecting to see Steve again anytime soon – his job, after all, was killing aliens and taking out terrorists. But Steve had left the other night with a vague promise to run with him again sometime, so maybe Sam was a little hopeful. Maybe Sam also swapped out his old sweats for his nicer athletic shirts, just in case he did show up.

Man, he just met the guy a few days ago, and already he was in too deep.

He got home from his run alone, feeling faintly disappointed, but hey, there was always tomorrow.

There was a knock at his door. He frowned and set his orange juice down. It was still early, a lot earlier than most people considered polite to drop by. So when he opened the door to find Steve Rogers on his stoop, he was more than a little surprised.

And he’d brought Nat, and shit she was injured and they both looked like hell.

“I’m sorry about this,” Steve said, looking genuinely apologetic. “We need a place to lay low.”

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” Nat said. She looked ready to fight, despite her wounds, if Sam so much as blinked the wrong way.

“Not everyone,” Sam said, stepping out of the way. He took one look around, making sure they weren’t followed, before closing the door. “There’s first aid in the bathroom.”

“You’ve been here before,” he heard Nat tease as Steve half carried her down the hall.

He gave them some time to clean up and take care of their injuries, while he cooked up a mountain of eggs and bacon.

“I made breakfast, if you guys eat that sort of thing,” he informed them, trying not to interrupt whatever they had going on.

Nat emerged from the room first, limping a little, and when Steve came out a few moments later, he was wearing the same grey shirt Sam had lent him a few nights before. He liked the way it looked on Steve, a hell of a lot better than it had looked on him, and he had to remind himself that now was not the time to be ogling this guy.

 

 

Nat had been pacing back and forth since she’d been bandaged up, barely sitting down long enough to eat. Steve didn’t know if it was her nerves, or if she was trying to get used to the way her leg worked so she could fight better later. He figured it was the latter.

“So the question is: how to the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD official in broad daylight?”

“The answer is, you don’t,” Sam said, dropping a file down in front of him.

“What’s this?”

“Call it a resume.”

He took one look at the picture of Sam and a blond soldier, and immediately knew it was Riley. He didn’t recognize the mission, but Natasha did, and if she was impressed, he was too. He opened the file, and at first glance, thought he was looking at blueprints for one of Stark’s new toys, but, _shit_ , these were wings.

“I thought you said you were a pilot?”

“I never said pilot,” Sam said, shaking his head with a smug little smile. Steve thought back, and no, he never has said pilot, he had just assumed.

Now he really was impressed. Any guy brave enough to strap on a pair of metal wings and jump into danger was more than worth their weight.

Steve wanted him for this, but shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do this. You got out for a good reason.”

“Dude, Captain America needs my help, there’s no better reason to get back in.”

Steve might have pushed back harder, if they didn’t need him.

 

 

“Man, you sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?” Natasha said while they waited for Sam to come around with Sitwell.

“What does that mean?”

“You pick a guy out in a crowd of thousands – I should mention that for most people, the guy would turn out to be a serial killer or have serious mommy issues. So I do a little recon, learn that he’s actually pretty cool – a little corny, sure – but seems like a great guy. Come to find out, he’s actually a super hero and totally perfect for you. And you _still_ won’t go for it, will you?”

They got Sitwell, and Sam disappeared while he and Nat questioned him. She kicked Sitwell over the edge, and immediately turned her attention back to Steve. “What about that girl in accounting, Laura…?”

She just didn’t know how to stop, did she? “Lillian. Lip piercing, right?”

“Yeah, she’s cute.”

“I’m not ready for that.”

Sam’s wings were incredible. They looked like they weighed a ton, but somehow kept him in the air, and Sam had no trouble bearing their weight on the ground. He looked perfectly at ease in them, looked like flying was the only place he felt home.

 

 

Travelling with Steve and Nat was like being in a warzone again, like every moment could be the last, and getting shot at was becoming a normal thing. This was the part Sam hated, didn’t miss it, except he kind of did. He missed the adrenaline rush, not so much the mortal peril. He missed the feeling of a freefall turned into a glide, missed soaring through the skies. That had been the thing that almost made him go back after Riley had died. But the reasons for leaving were stronger than his desire to fly.

He didn’t know how Nat got into Fort Meade, wasn’t sure he wanted to know, plausible deniability and all, but damn was he glad to have his wings strapped to his back again.

In the midst of all the fighting, it was hard to know what was going on around him. All he could comprehend was the people shooting at him, dodging bullets and firing back. He couldn’t see Steve or Nat, didn’t know if they were even still alive, or if he was the only one left fighting their battles. They only good sign was that the fight was still raging – Hydra would’ve stopped if they’d reached Cap.

He fought his way back to his wings, then flew back into battle just in time to stop the Winter Soldier from killing Steve.

He caught a glimpse of the look on Steve face, the recognition and shock. He looked… broken.

And the next think he knew, they were surrounded by SHIELD’s STRIKE team, and Steve dropped his shield in surrender. He was all out of fight. What had he seen? What had the Winter Soldier said to him?

 

 

“How can you be sure it was him?” Nat asked, when Steve explained.

“It was him. He looked right at me, didn’t even know me,” Steve said, still wearing that lost, broken expression.

“How is that even possible? It was like seventy years ago,” Sam asked. He wanted to believe, for Steve’s sake, that it was true, that Bucky had somehow survived the fall, and the seventy years since. He knew, he knew exactly what it felt like to watch a best friend fall to their death; Riley’s fate had been shockingly similar to Bucky’s. And if somehow Riley appeared now in front of him, he couldn’t imagine what he would feel.

Well, he’d probably feel quite a lot like Steve was feeling.

But there had been a while there where he thought Riley was everywhere, in the park, at the grocery store, mowing the neighbor’s lawn. There were still days he had to double take just to be sure he hadn’t seen him. What was to say Steve wasn’t going through exactly that?

“It was Zola,” Steve said, and explained all about the shitty things Bucky’s unit had been subjected to. The history books had glossed over that part too, always painting Hydra as evil, but never really going into detail. Shit.

“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.”

 

 

Since the day he met Steve, his life had been nothing but a continuous string of weird – from ‘we need a place to lay low’, to threatening high ranking SHIELD officials, to getting hunted by a dozen agencies, shot at by the so-called good guys, and now, supposedly dead allies resurfacing.

He couldn’t complain that things were boring.

 

 

Steve could not have been more grateful for this man, this virtual stranger who was suddenly unwavering in his life, a member of his team, a necessary part. He felt nothing but respect for Sam, who could have shut his door in Captain America’s face, could have pretended to be just an ordinary guy, not the Falcon. But instead he put his life on the line for someone he barely knew.

 “I do what he does, only slower.”

Steve only had one other person in his life that followed him with such blind faith, and now he was brainwashed by Hydra, tortured and torturing. He felt a surge of responsibility. If that was what they had done to Bucky, then he had to get Sam out now, while he still had the chance.

But Sam wouldn’t have it. He was in this now, he said.

“I can do this on my own,” Steve said.

“You don’t have to,” Sam told him. And fuck, Steve already felt like he was drowning in memories of Bucky, but they just kept coming in, pulling other bad things with them. The only thing keeping him afloat was the knowledge that Sam was going to see this through with him.

“Whoever he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you save, he’s the kind you stop.”

Steve should hate him for what he was implying, but he knew, deep down, that Sam was right.

But Steve wouldn’t kill Bucky, _couldn’t_. He was going to save him, if it was the last thing he did.

 

 

Captain America, the hero, the legend, the stories parents told their children.

It didn’t do an ounce of justice to reality of Steve Rogers.

The serum, they said, took a good man, and turned him into a great man, turned him into a hero. But all they ever talked about was how scrawny he was, how muscular he became, how brave it made him.

Sam was pretty sure he was brave before.

But no one ever mentioned what it was like to hear him talk, how he could turn a crowd with a just a few words, lead an army with an idea, bring out the hero in everyone around him.

“Did you write that down first? Or was it off the top of your head?” Sam asked, unable to mask the awe in his voice or his eyes. It was all he could feel, from his heart to his toes.

 

 

“ _Hey Sam, I’m gonna need a ride_ ,” Steve said over the comms.

“Roger. Let me know when you’re ready.”

There was an explosion of the bow of the closest helicarrier. “ _I just did._ ” Sam looked around, spotting Steve falling like a rock. Shit. Panic rose in his gut as he sped toward him. For a moment, one long, terrifying moment, he was sure he wasn’t going to reach him in time.

“You know, you’re a lot heavier than you look,” Sam said, trying to shake off the terror he had felt.

“I had a big breakfast.”

And then Steve was falling again. Sam didn’t hesitate to jump off the edge after him, but Bucky’s reflexes were faster, caught up to him before he could do a damn thing.

“Cap, Cap, come in, are you okay?” he asked over the comms, frantic until he heard Steve’s voice.

And his wings, the perfect extensions of himself, were gone, unceremoniously ripped off his back. The next time Steve fell – or jumped – off something tall, he would be powerless to stop it.

 

 

Steve’s thoughts were jumbled as he sank to the bottom to the Potomac. It was all happening again, just like last time. He’d lost Bucky, unable to save him, again. And he was sinking, again. And just like before, he’d waited too long, missed out on his chance, all because he’d been a coward, too afraid of his feelings to do something about them. When he woke up – if he woke up again – it would be another seventy years gone, too late to say goodbye to Peggy, too late to say and do all the things he wanted with Sam, too late to save Bucky.

 

 

When he finally did wake, he kept his eyes closed for a while, scared of what he might find when he opened them.

But all that fear was gone in an instant, because Sam was sitting next to him, looking exactly as he did the day they met, maybe a little worse for the wear, but still just as beautiful. “On your left.”

 

 

 “What about you, Wilson? We could use a man with your abilities.”

Sam tore his eyes away from Steve. “I’m more of a soldier than a spy.” And he wasn’t leaving Steve’s side anytime soon. Someone had to keep him out of trouble. Or have his back when he inevitably found it.

Nat handed him a file, Bucky’s KGB file. “Careful, Steve, you might not want to pull on that thread,” she said, walking away.

“You’re going after him,” Sam said. It was never a question. Were the roles reversed, Sam wouldn’t hesitate to go after Riley.

“You don’t have to come with me.” But it sounded an awful lot like he wanted him to.

“I know.” There had never been any doubt in his mind. He belonged at Steve’s side. He had a couple of months of vacation and sick days saved up, why not make use of them. “When do we start?”


	3. Traumas

He still had nightmares. Almost every night, he woke up with his heart racing, feeling like there was a lead weight on his chest, cotton in his mouth, or water in his lungs. Going back to sleep after that was hard, and most nights he’d give up pretty early on, opting to go for a run until he was tired again, or until it was time to go in to work. The serum running through his veins meant he could go longer without sleep, but he still felt like crap.

It was easier before, when he lived alone in his crappy apartment. His nightmares never woke the neighbors, and no one cared if he disappeared in the middle of the night. And come morning, he could pretend everything was fine, bury himself in work until nightmares were just memories.

But now… now that he was semi-permanently living out of Sam’s spare room, now that SHIELD was gone and there wasn’t a lot of work to bury himself in… now it was harder. He spent most of his time searching for leads on Bucky, sometimes joining up with the Avengers to tackle some big bad. At night, the dreams still came, and dreams turned to nightmares, and if he woke up screaming, Sam was always there to check on him, bring him a cup of tea or milk or bourbon.

It was almost too much for him to handle sometimes.

 

 

“I found something,” Sam said, upon walking in his front door. Steve looked up from the couch, his eyes wide.

They hadn’t found anything, no sign of Bucky, in the weeks since SHIELD fell. Steve no longer had an entire government organization behind him, and gone were all their resources. Most of the former SHIELD agents were burned, unable to find work, even if they had been loyal to the cause. No self respecting agency wanted to hire someone who might be secretly Hydra.

So their entire intelligence gathering network was caput.

“What? Where?” Steve asked, trying not to get his hopes too high.

 

 

Sam walked out of the house carrying an armload of gear. They’d both had their go-bags packed for weeks, waiting for a sign, any sign, of where Bucky might be. The moment Sam found it, Steve called in a rental car, and promptly disappeared for an hour. Sam used that time to pack some last minute things, anything they’d missed, enough clothing to keep them going for at least a week, and, of course, snacks.

“What took you so long?”

“I had to have something flown in,” Steve said. He popped the trunk of the car and jogged up to the house, grabbing the bags left by the door.

“What does that even mean?” Sam asked.

Steve just smiled at him. Sam hated that mischievous smile; it usually ended badly for him.

Sam rolled his eyes and lifted the trunk open with his elbow. He almost dropped everything he was carrying when he saw what was already there. “Oh my god, how did you…” He quickly arranged his bag in the trunk, and reached out to touch the pack, to make sure it was real. His wings had been destroyed almost a month ago, gone down with the wreckage in the Potomac. Yet here they were, shining new.

“They were designed by Stark Industries,” Steve said with a shrug. “I pulled a few strings to get a new set made. To say thanks.”

“Oh man,” Sam breathed, pulling them over his shoulders. “They’re lighter.”

“I told him not to make any changes to the original design,” Steve said with a small frown. Leave it to Tony to take creative liberties.

“No, it’s good,” Sam said, fastening the straps.

The wings flared out and all Steve could think was how beautiful they were, a natural extension of Sam. Maybe the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

 

 

It wasn’t until they started their road trip that Steve realized he wasn’t the only one still suffering. Most of the time, there had been a whole house between them, but staying in motels off the highway left them little privacy. Sam was just as plagued by nightmares as he was, though he suffered in silence. Sharing a room made him realize; sleep, for Sam, was fitful at best. He tossed and turned, and where Steve had a tendency to wake up screaming or crying, Sam was mostly quiet, made only small, pained noises.

Steve got out of bed and approached Sam, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. If it got to be too much, he’d shake him awake, sit with him for a while until he calmed down.

Sam did the same for him.

 

 

By the time they reached Cleveland, Bucky was long gone, or else lying very low. It came as no surprise; the same had been the case in Richmond and Lexington and Indianapolis. They had followed a long trail of dead leads.

They stayed a couple nights, searching the city for any clues, while also searching the newspapers from Ohio to Maine for any sign of him.

“Did you bring your passport?” Sam asked over breakfast.

“Yeah?”

“Someone matching his description was spotted in Toronto.”

He was long gone by the time they arrived.

 

 

“Wilson,” Sam said, answering his phone. “Hey, hey, Garcia, slow down. Take a deep breath. Start at the beginning.”

Steve could only hear one side of the conversation, but he knew enough to know that the caller was one of Sam’s veterans, one of the people he’d been working with for a while.

Steve drove, listening to Sam talk the caller, talk them down from whatever they were going through. He tried not to listen too hard, tried not to pry into the details; mostly he just listened to the way Sam spoke, how he always said all the right things. Even if, in the end, all the right things didn’t do shit for the trauma, it still sounded good, still sounded right.

“You should go back,” Steve said when he hung up a while later. He should never have dragged Sam away from his life, his work.

“Like hell,” Sam said.

Steve felt relief, but tried not to show it. He needed Sam, even if he could never tell him. He didn’t know if he would’ve been able to keep going, keep his sanity, if Sam hadn’t been with him.

“There are plenty of therapists, plenty of places they can get help. And they have my number, I told them they could call any time they needed. Right now I’m needed here.”

Steve smiled, and wondered if maybe Sam needed this as much as he did. If, maybe somehow, saving Bucky meant vicariously saving Riley.

 

 

They followed Bucky north to Ottawa, then back across the border into northern Maine. Each stop along the way felt a little closer, but they never could catch up with him, nor find any pattern in his movements.

They started to drive south, though they hadn’t heard of any sightings in a few days.

Steve was starting to lose hope.

 

 

“We’re getting near Manhattan,” Sam said, frowning a little as he drove.

“And?”

“My mom will _kill_ me if she finds out I was here and did stop by.”

They hadn’t heard anything new, and Steve could hardly see the harm in making a stop. “Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” Sam told him.

“You want me to sit in the car?” Steve asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

“No, I mean… it’s my crazy family. You shouldn’t have to put up with that. There’s plenty to do in the city, you could, I don’t know…”

“How long have we known each other?”

Sam thought about it for a moment. “Like, two months.”

“And you’ve been putting up with my crazy the whole time. I think I can handle a few hours with your family.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that.”

 

 

“There is something you should know,” Sam said as they walked down the street from the parking garage.

“What’s that?”

“My mom is… kind of a fan.”

Steve blinked a few times. “Of Captain America?”

Sam nodded. “There’s still time to back out.”

Steve reached out and knocked on the door.

A woman answered. She looked to be about Sam’s age, and had the exact same nose and smile.

“Sam!” she exclaimed, lunging out to hug him. When she let go, she turned to Steve. “And…” She took a step back into the house, motioning for them to follow, and shouted out “Ma, you’ll never guess who’s here.”

“Is it that dreadful Collins boy come to apologize?” a shout came from up the stairs.

“No, it’s… Ma, just get down here.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Trust me, you’ll want to see for yourself,” she shouted.

“Steve, this is my loudmouth sister, Monique,” Sam said.

“Why is she laughing?” Steve asked.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, soon enough,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

And older woman came down the stairs, her eyes lighting up when she saw Sam. “Sam, baby! What are you doing here?” She walked toward him, holding out her arms. She pulled him into a bone crushing hug. “Who is your friend?” She squinted up at Steve. “He looks familiar…”

“It’s Steve Rogers, mom,” Monique said, still cackling over whatever she thought was so funny. “It’s Captain America.”

Mrs. Wilson’s mouth fell open in surprise, then she doubled over laughing.

Steve turned to Sam with his brow furrowed, silently asking what was so funny, but Sam had buried his face in his palms and let out a sound of frustration.

“Oh, we’re not laughing at you, dear,” Mrs. Wilson said, holding her arms out to hug him too. He accepted, hugging her back gently. “It’s just that Sam hated hearing about Captain America when he was  boy. Would roll his eyes every time his daddy brought up your name. And now he shows up here, with you.” She laughed a little more.

Steve turned to Sam, smiling. “You hated me?” he asked playfully.

“Every time he opened his mouth, it was Captain America did this, Captain America did that!” Sam said, feeling rather exasperated.

“Don’t speak ill of your father,” Mrs. Wilson said.

“I’m not… you know I love dad. But it was the same stories, _over and over_.”

“You hated me,” Steve repeated, laughing along with Sam’s mother and sister.

“You’re gonna milk this one for all it’s worth, aren’t you?” Sam asked.

“Until my dying breath.”

“Here he is,” Mrs. Wilson said, handing Steve a picture. “Sam’s father. He died eight years ago.”

Steve studied the picture for a moment. He could see some of Sam in there, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. “I knew him,” he said. “He was in the 107th.”

Mrs. Wilson beamed and nodded, clearly never expecting that he would remember. But Steve knew every one of their faces.

“You never told me,” he said to Sam.

Sam shrugged. “It’s not like we’re friends.”

Steve held his hand to his chest, feigning pain. “You wound me.”

“Seriously, dude, I’ve only known you a few months. Forgive me if I haven’t had the chance to tell you my life story _and_ my father’s.”

Mrs. Wilson’s face suddenly fell. “Samuel, was that you we saw on the news, flying around over DC with him?”

“Ma-”

“Don’t lie to me, boy.”

“Yes, ma.”

She sat down and closed her eyes.

 

 

All in all, it went better than expected. Mrs. Wilson was, understandably, concerned that her son was once again putting his life in danger; knowing that Captain America had his back was only a small comfort. But in the end, she was more proud of him than she was scared.

“How long will you boys be staying?” Mrs. Wilson asked.

“We’re just passing through,” Sam said. “We’re kind of working on something. In fact, we should probably be going…”

“You’ll at least stay for dinner,” she urged. Sam exchanged a look with Steve, who didn’t seem opposed. He’d been checking his phone periodically; they still hadn’t heard anything. It wouldn’t hurt to stay around a little longer.

“You guys are so cute together,” Monique squeaked when Steve had gone off to the bathroom.

“We’re not… it’s not like that,” Sam said quickly. He wished it were, wished it could be, but he needed Steve, couldn’t risk losing him over his want for more.

Monique rolled her eyes. “Then you’re an idiot.”

 

 

By the time they left, there was still no word on Bucky, still no leads to follow, so they grabbed a room in a hotel with the worst beds they can find and Steve fell asleep listening to Sam talk about his dad.

 

 

It was Sam, this time, who woke up screaming, with tears in his eyes. He sat upright, buried his face in his hands, and didn’t look up until he felt the bed dip. There was Steve, holding out a box of tissues and a glass of water.

“Sorry I woke you,” he said after gulping down the water. He set the tissues on the nightstand, using one to wipe away the tears.

Steve shrugged. “I was already awake.” Sam didn’t ask, because he already knew the answer. They both came with a lot of baggage. “Wanna talk about it?” Steve asked.

Sam shook his head. There were times, a lot of times, when maybe he did want to talk, but never knew how. Right now he just needed Steve to be there.

He leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder, taking some small comfort in his presence. Steve wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in close.

Not for the first time, they fall asleep clinging to one another.

 

 

Steve woke first, shaken by a dream about ice and clouds. He hopped in the shower. He stood under the hot water longer than usual, longer than was necessary, and when he finally get out, his fingers were wrinkled. He pulled on his clothes and walked back into the room. Sam was awake now, sitting at the little desk with his laptop. He smiled up at Steve.

“You got something from Sharon,” he said, turning the laptop so he could see. “Took me a few minutes to figure out, but it matches our pattern perfectly.”

Steve sat down to look at the message while Sam took a quick shower.

There was a list of Hydra bases and operatives, somehow gathered by the CIA. Along with each name was the information found when they were investigated. Every single location had already been hit by the time the CIA arrived, every target neutralized.

And every city on the list was one he and Sam had stopped in over the past couple of weeks, one that Bucky had been sighted in.

He was taking out Hydra.

At the bottom of the email there was a short message. **We have reason to believe there are more bases in Charlotte, Atlanta, and Jacksonville, but have been unable to track them down.** She may as well have said _Bucky will be there, you just have to get there in time_.

Sharon was one of the few friends he still had in the intelligence community… he wondered how much trouble she would be in if her bosses found out she’d sent this to him.

“Thanks, Sharon,” he said to himself, slamming the laptop closed and shoving it into its case. He took a quick look around the room, intent on packing away any loose items, but they never did do much unpacking to begin with.

“You ready?” Sam asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

“Let’s go.”

 

 

The drive was longer than any other single leg of their trip thus far, and the traffic was terrible, but Sam didn’t complain or pull over or say anything about stopping.

“Thank you,” Steve said. “I know I’ve said it before, but thank you. For being here with me, keeping me sane.”

“No place I’d rather be,” Sam said, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

And Steve had cared about Sam since the moment they met, might have loved him in the weeks that followed, but never loved him more than he did right then.


	4. Powerless

By the time they reach Charlotte, it was too late. They couldn’t find any sign that he had been there, but Steve got a text with a link to some video of a guy with a metal arm, spotted in a convenience store in Atlanta.

“We’re too late,” Steve said, shaking his head. “We’re too far behind, we’ll never catch him.”

“We skip Atlanta,” Sam said. “You’re right; we’ll never catch him if we only follow the news trail. But we know one more place he’ll go. We just need to get there first.”

 

 

Tracking down a Hydra base where the CIA had already failed to do so was no easy task, but in the end, it was one panicked operative that tipped them off.

“Most people see you in the street do one of two things,” Sam said as they ran after the guy. “Stare in awe, or take pictures. Sometimes they ask their friend if it’s just their imagination. This guy turned white as a ghost and ran. Only someone who knows you’re the enemy looks like that.”

“Have you been cataloguing the way people look at me?” Steve asked.

“It’s hard not to,” Sam said. Everyone looked at Steve, everyone stared, wide eyed like children. Next to him, Sam was invisible.

They followed the guy into a nearby skyscraper, just missing him as he got into the elevator. “He’s going to the top floor,” Steve said.

“Is there a way to shut that down?” Sam asked the guy at the front desk.

“What?” He was equal parts confused and in awe. Steve inspired that a lot in people.

“Never mind, I’ll take the stairs,” Steve said.

“I’ll meet you there.” Sam ran out of the building, unfurled his wings, and shot upward.

Neither of them was surprised when this mission turned into a firefight on the rooftops. Hydra agents were everywhere, some trying to escape, others trying their hardest to kill Captain America.

Sam was circling the wide building when he heard Steve’s voice over the comms. “ _Sam, I need a lift_.” He felt a familiar flutter of panic as he searched the skies. There was an explosion, and then there was Steve jumping off the roof. Sam’s heart raced as he flew, fear and adrenaline spiking. He scooped Steve out of the sky, then dragged them both back into the fight.

Sam sometimes wanted to punch Steve, but it seemed a little redundant with Hydra already doing just that.

 

 

“He’s not going to come here,” Steve said, climbing into the car.

“Probably not.” They hadn’t exactly been quiet in taking out this base, and if Bucky had caught wind of it, which he likely had, there would be no reason for him to make the trip.

“We have to keep moving.”

“And go where?” Sam asked. “That was our last lead.”

“I don’t know. There’s got to be something.”

Sam shook his head. “Look, man, I’m exhausted, and I’m sure you are too. Let’s just find a place to crash, well start fresh in the morning.”

Steve was reluctant, but nodded.

 

 

It wasn’t until they were checking into a hotel and the adrenaline was wearing off that it caught up with him. He was tired, exhausted, even, and if that was how he was feeling, then Sam was no doubt feeling a hundred times worse.

“You’re bleeding,” Steve said, unsure how it had taken him until now to notice the streak of red across Sam’s shoulder.

“’s what happens when you get shot,” Sam said, dropping his bag and wings at the foot of one of the beds.

“You didn’t say you got shot,” Steve said, retrieving the first aid kit from his bag.

Sam shrugged, his eyes drooping closed. “I’ve had worse.”

Those words were ones Steve never wanted to hear. He didn’t want to know what danger Sam had faced in his past. Hell, he didn’t want Sam in danger ever, didn’t want him following Captain America into a firefight.

“Let me help you clean that up,” Steve said, sitting down next to him on the bed.

Sam pulled his shirt over his head, wincing a little as the fabric stuck to his wound.

He cleaned Sam up in silence, thinking all the while about how he could get him away, send him back home, out of danger. It was impossible though, because being here was always Sam’s choice, Steve had given him a dozen outs, told him to go back home more than once, but Sam would never agree.

But Steve didn’t know how to handle being the reason Sam got hurt, didn’t know what he would do if… if he lost Sam.

He finished dressing the wound and looked up at Sam, whose eyes were closed. He wondered if he’d managed to fall asleep sitting up, or if he was just too tired to keep them open.

“Done?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said, standing up.

Sam scooted around in the bed, lying down on one of the squishy pillows. As an afterthought, he kicked his shoes off, and they landed on the floor with a thud. “Bed’s too soft.”

Steve smiled a little. “I know. Next time we’ll make sure they put rocks in the pillows.”

 

 

Sam shot upright, waking with Steve’s name on his lips and tears falling freely.

“Hey,” Steve said softly, sitting down next to him.

Sam tried desperately to take in air, but his lungs would not cooperate. Distantly, he felt Steve’s hand on his back, moving in slow, calming circles. He focused on that until his breathing normalized, until all he could feel was Steve.

“I need you to stop,” Sam said finally. Steve froze, pulling his hand away. Sam missed it immediately. “No, not that.” The hand returned, albeit hesitantly, and Steve left it in one spot, no longer moving. “I need you to stop jumping off towers and helicarriers and planes, expecting me to catch you.”

“You always do,” Steve said like an idiot.

“It just takes one, Steve. One day that I’m not there, or I won’t be able to get to you in time, or…”

“Sam-”

“No. I think you get off on it, but it tears me up inside. I get it, you’re an adrenaline junkie. I am too, most days, but every time I see you fall, it’s Riley all over again, only a thousand times worse.” It was only half his suffering, because the other half came when he slept, impossible nightmares that left him feeling raw and fragile and alone.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t know. I should have. I’m sorry.” He pulled their shoulders close, and they sat that way for a while before he spoke again. “Most of my nightmares were about Bucky,” he said. “Watching him fall over and over and over again, powerless to stop it.” He took a deep breath. “Now… now it’s you, more often than not. I’m back in World War II, and there’s fighting, and there’s you. It makes no sense, but there you are, and then you’re falling off the side of the train and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.”

Sam knew that feeling all too well.

“My life is dangerous,” Steve said. “And you’re in danger just being around me. I hate it, and if you want out, all you have to do is say the word-”

“I don’t,” Sam said.

“But if you do. And until then, I’ll try my hardest not to find myself in situations that require a mid-air rescue. But you know, it’s not always in my control.”

“All I ask is that you try.”

“I can do that.”

He fell asleep with Steve’s arms around him, wishing it could be that way always.

 

 

When Sam awoke in the morning, Steve was still there. They had pulled apart a little in the night, they were facing one another now, but his hand was resting on Sam’s hip, his thumb moving back and forth in slow circles.

“Morning,” Steve said, like this was something they did all the time.

And, yeah, they’d shared a bed often enough, when there was limited vacancy or if one (or both) of them was having a rough night.

But it was never like this, never so tender. One of them always woke first, left before things could get weird.

“Morning,” Sam said, smiling back at him.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked.

Sam nodded. “Okay enough.” It had been a while since he’d had a panic attack, but he remembered all too well the feelings that accompanied it. He didn’t feel so bad, considering, but he didn’t feel great either. His nerves were still tingling, his lungs aching.

“You sure?”

Sam nodded. “Where are we headed today?” Burying oneself in work didn’t fall on the list of healthy coping mechanisms, but Sam wasn’t so great at taking the advice he preached. _Do as I say, not as I do._

Rather than answer, Steve leaned in closer, pressing his lips to Sam’s. And Sam, he barely had the chance to register that it was happening, let alone respond, before Steve was pulling away. His eyes were closed, but Sam was well versed in the many faces of Steve, could read his expression perfectly.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, moving to get out of the bed.

“Don’t you dare,” Sam said, pulling him back by his wrist and his neck. He felt Steve’s surprised as he initiated the second kiss. Sam didn’t want to let him go, but kept his grip loose, just in case Steve needed to get away, in case it was all a huge mistake.

But Steve recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around Sam’s middle, drawing their bodies flush against each other. The feeling of Steve’s body on his was too much and not enough at the same time.

“Wait,” Sam said, pushing away just a little. His hand was firm on Steve’s arm, just in case he got the wrong impression and tried to run again. “Before I get in too deep, I need to know.” It’s a load of shit, because he’s been out of his depth from the moment they met all those months ago. “What happens when we find Bucky? ‘Cause I can’t do this with you if it’s just a place holder for him.”

Steve shook his head. “Bucky is my best friend, my brother. It was never like that with him.”

“Okay,” Sam said, pulling him back.

“Were you and Riley…”

Sam shook his head.

“Like you said, he was my best friend, my wingman. There were times when I thought maybe… but no, it never was.”

 

 

Kissing Sam was like… Steve didn’t know what it was like. Like good things he didn’t have a name for. Like basking in the warmth of the sun.

Steve could do it all day.

“We should get moving,” Sam said eventually. It was true. Neither of them tended to lounge around in bed in the mornings, 8 o’clock was pushing it for both of them. And they had a mission, a goal.

“I don’t know where to go,” Steve said, feeling rather helpless. Without leads to follow, there was nothing they could do but drive aimlessly. “Maybe we should just… go home.”

“Like hell.”

“What?”

“Like hell am I letting Captain America give up. Need I remind you what happens when someone else catches him before we do? So we’re fresh out of leads. We can take a break, maybe go home for  few days while we track down more. Buck up, Rogers.” He frowned. “Poor choice of words.”

 

 

Sam Wilson was one of the best things that every happened to him – definitely the best thing that happened since waking up from the ice (discovering that Bucky was alive was a close second, because that fact was marred by the knowledge that Bucky was brainwashed, and at present, missing/on the run), and he was better than damn near all the shit he went through in the forties.

The thing was, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference. No matter how happy he was with Sam, no matter how good things were, he still had nightmares, still cried, woke up screaming.

“It’s okay, babe,” Sam said, putting his hand on Steve’s back. “I’m here, we’re okay.”

He was wrong. It did make a difference, all the difference in the world, really. The dreams still came, all the time, and they seldom relented. But Sam was always there, always sat with him, lent his shoulder when it was needed. It made a huge difference.

Sam placed a kiss between his shoulders. “Need anything?”

Steve shook his head. “Just you.”

 

 

Sam knew that putting ones entire mental well-being in the palms of one person was far from healthy. It was a recipe for disaster. Relationships begin and end all the time, and losing an anchor could be detrimental – he liked to think things with Steve weren’t so fleeting, but he had be realistic sometimes. And if things didn’t fade into nothingness, it was still a lot of weight to put on someone’s shoulders (even shoulders as strong as Captain America's); it was too many expectations. Eventually, they would grow to loathe each other for it.

So he collected things that made him happy, and encouraged Steve to do the same. For Sam, flying was obvious. He adored it, loved being one with the sky, there were few things in the world that made him feel so free. Cooking was another, something he only recently realized he enjoyed, but now found himself cooking up a feast while Steve slept, or baking up cookies for everyone he knew.

Steve started up drawing again, occasionally painting, and, after one particularly bizarre visit to a craft store, he picked up crochet. It was goofy, and encouraged a whole army of new old-person jokes, but Steve seemed to enjoy it (Sam found little crochet hats everywhere – in the floorboards of his car, stuffed between sofa cushions, in the cupboard), and that was all that really mattered.

They made each other happy, but there were other things that made them happy too.

 

 

“We all have good days and bad days,” Sam said to one of his veterans over the phone. “We have to find coping mechanisms to get us through the bad, but they aren’t the be-all-end-all, there is no magic fix. Sometimes the thing that gets you through one night can’t do anything to get you through a bad day. You can’t have just one thing. Running might help you sleep sometimes, but you need a toolbox of things that help you deal. Join a boxing gym, go dancing, do crossword puzzles. We’re all different, what works for me won’t work for you. And sometimes the things that work aren’t really good for you.

“We’d all like the solution to be easy, to find one thing that makes everything okay, but it doesn’t exist. There will always be bad days, and sometimes they’ll outnumber the good ones, but they don’t negate the good days. You have to hold onto the happy moments, make them last, and when the bad times come back around, you learn to let them go. They’re always going to be there, but you don’t have to let them define your life.”

Steve let go of the steering wheel with one hand and grabbed onto Sam’s. He smiled when Sam looked over at him. Sam laced their fingers together, listening to the vet talk for a while longer, before they decided they were good enough to end the call.

“I love you,” Steve said when the phone was down. “You don’t… I just needed to say it. I didn’t get the chance last time.”

“I love you too,” Sam said, squeezing his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is done? I originally planned to write a little more (stuff with AoU up to Civil War), and I still might, but for now, it's done.  
> Thanks for reading :)


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